Day By Day
by lanri
Summary: Unseen 'verse: Prompt fic. Each chapter will be based off of prompts by readers. Ch.13: Bleak Celebrations
1. Graduation Day

**Day By Day**

* * *

Alright, folks! This is dedicated to my loyal readers of my Unseen 'verse-I love you so much :)

This will be a prompt fic: each chapter will be based off different prompts you give me! So go on, get to the review section. They can be one-word prompts, detailed story ideas, song-fics, whatever your heart desires. I will ask that you go easy on me and keep them pretty straight-forward; this is designed for shorter stories rather than super long ones (if any pop up, I might set those aside to use for longer fics).

This one is just a random thing that came into my head: the rest is up to you. So go on. Start prompting!

P.S. I will be going on vacation in a couple weeks, so most likely I'll get one or two prompts done, and then have a break (I'll think and develop them on my vacation), before coming back.

* * *

**Graduation Day**

* * *

"I'm just saying, you look pretty dorky in that getup."

"Shut up, Dean. Don't ruin this for me."

"Okay, princess." Sam could hear his brother's grin, and scowled, reaching up to adjust his cap once more.

"No, don't touch it. I was kidding, promise. Here." Sam's hands were batted away by Dean's more competent ones, and he sighed.

"Dean, I swear, if you write something on my face—"

"Would I do that to you?" Dean's voice was affronted, and Sam let the pause speak his opinion.

"Okay, yeah, I would do that, but this is your special day. Pinky promise."

"'We don't use pinky promises, Sam, pinky promises are for girls,'" Sam quoted.

"Thumb promises, then."

"You are such a dork."

"Takes one to know one."

Sam ignored his brother and began running through his speech in his head.

"You know . . . Sammy, you know Dad is proud of you."

He wanted to laugh at that ridiculous statement, but he didn't want to hurt Dean, so that was the last thing he would do. "Yeah, Dean," he said agreeably. "I know."

Dean gave a frustrated growl in front of him, and Sam tried to school his face into sincerity.

"Whatever," Dean muttered. "When should we leave?"

"Um, soon, I think."

"Am I supposed to carry you across the threshold?"

Sam groaned. "That's if you're getting married, Dean."

"Oh, right." Dean's amusement was unrepentant, and he nudged Sam forward. "Let's go get you that degree so you stop whining to Dad about moving, huh?"

Sam felt a twinge of regret at keeping his applications a secret—but today was not the day to reveal that.

* * *

"And what is a journey? Is it just distance traveled? Time spent? No, it's what happens on the way. It's the things that shape you. At the end of the journey, you're not the same. Today is about change."

Dean smirked and looked around, but no one else appeared to have noticed. Instead, he re-focused on Sam giving his semi-plagiarized valedictorian speech.

"It's a wonder he was able to make valedictorian, with his disability," someone whispered behind him, and Dean glowered at them. At Sam's next words, he turned back to the stage.

"In the end, the one person I most have to thank is my big brother. Without him, I wouldn't be on this stage." Dean flushed, but at least Sam couldn't point him out. Sam finished up, saying "Once again, congratulations to the graduating class."

Dean couldn't have been prouder, and he was pretty sure his grin was larger than anyone else's.

It took a while for them to go through the long lists of graduates, and Dean had zoned out by the time they got to "Winchester." Once the large amount of handshaking had finished, Dean was ready for a beer.

Still, there was something in that huge grin of Sam's that made it all worth it.

Skillfully, Dean eased through the crowd until he was right behind Sam and jumped on him.

"Nice try, Dean," Sam laughed. "I know when you're coming."

"Shut up." Dean beamed at him. "So, anyone notice you took your speech from _Buffy_?"

Sam's smile had reached 100 watts. "Not yet. Figured you would be the only one."

"Yeah, well, no one has taste. C'mon, wanna get out of here?"

Sam had always hated crowds. "Please."

"I meant what I said on stage, y'know," Sam said in the car.

"Huh?"

"Thank you. For everything, Dean."

"I'm rolling my eyes," Dean deadpanned. "Okay, kiddo. Just because you're graduating doesn't mean anything changes."

"Yeah." Sam sank down in the seat a little. "Nothing'll change."

"Yup," Dean affirmed cheerfully. "Life's looking good, huh?"

Sam nodded, but he must have moved onto something else in his enormous brain, and Dean let him get into his thinking mood on his own, focusing on the drive.


	2. Like Father Like

**Day By Day**

* * *

I asked, and you guys delivered. I loved all of the prompts though I will add: disclaimer, I am not obligated to complete all of them so please don't hate me if I fail (hides).

So continue to prompt! No promises I'll get all of them, but I will try :)

This first one is for **MysteryMadchen**, who has been here since the beginning (I love you okay) and requested some interaction between John and Sam. Probably didn't quite hit the loving-ish relationship you wanted, but I tried. Hope you like it!

* * *

**Like Father, Like . . . **

* * *

"Dean, get your brother put to bed."

John caught Dean's glare, but ignored it. Teenagers would be teenagers. "Big hunt tonight, so we'll probably be at the bar afterwards if you want to meet us there," he added after a moment. "Don't forget your fake ID."

"What about Sammy?"

"You can leave him here." John spared a glance at his blind son. "Just make sure he goes to the bathroom first."

Sam's head went up, flush high on his cheeks. "I can use the bathroom on my own," he said proudly.

John bit back a sarcastic retort that was on the tip of his tongue. "See you boys later," he said instead.

"Good luck on your hunt," Sam called after him. Dean, uncharacteristically, was silent, still stewing about some probably semi-offensive comment John had made. John sighed as he closed the motel door. Some days they were just too much for him.

* * *

John clapped Caleb on the shoulder and grinned at the other two hunters. "Drinks on me, guys." The bar wasn't too crowded, thankfully, and John went straight up to the bar to order. When he turned around, he found his fellow hunters over in the back of the bar.

"How 'bout a game of pool?"

John heard Dean's voice as he approached and smiled. At least he had gotten out of his funk.

"You've already had two beers, you're gonna miss every shot."

John's smile disappeared. Grimly, he approached the table. "Boys," he said coolly. "What are you two doing here?" He shot a look at Dean that spoke volumes.

"You said you would come here to celebrate after the hunt if it was successful. Joshua called, so Sammy and I headed over." Dean's expression was defiant.

John caught Caleb giving Sam a significant patronizing once-over.

"How'd you get in here, anyway?" Nathan, Joshua's younger partner, was giving John's two boys a dubious look. "You can't be older than sixteen."

Dean bristled. "I'm eighteen."

"And you, kid?"

Sam shrank back. "Fourteen."

Dean moved slightly in front of his brother, carefree grin with hard eyes behind it. "Me and that bartender get along. She knows Sam here won't cause any trouble."

John coughed, getting the attention off of his sons. "So, I take it no one wants this beer?"

A disturbance at the bar had all of the hunters stiffening and turning—hunters tended to be paranoid, no matter what—and listening in closely to the loud discussion.

"Another death," Joshua said, disbelieving. "But we finished the chupacabra's off. There were only four."

"Apparently not," Caleb muttered darkly. "Celebration will have to wait, gentlemen."

"Dad, can I come?"

John turned to Dean. "Dean, you can't—"

"I'll wait in the car," Sam interjected.

Torn, John glanced at the other hunters, noting Caleb's sneer and Joshua's questioning glance.

"Fine."

* * *

"Sammy, you stay here, okay? You sure you don't want me with you?"

"I'll be fine, Dean."

John heard his boys conversing softly and felt a slight twinge of—oddly enough—jealousy. Before Sam was blinded, Dean had tended to gravitate towards impressing John with his knowledge, trying to talk to him at every point. Now, the two of them were inseparable, which left John out of the loop.

"Dean, you have your shotgun?" he interrupted.

"Yessir."

The desert was hot and dry, and John levered himself out of the car with a grunt. The first round, they had killed four chupacabras. One or two must've been hiding somewhere else.

"Got your boys taken care of?"

Caleb's tone was a little too sardonic for John's taste. "They can take care of themselves," he said shortly.

"Alright, boys, let's get 'em," Joshua racked his shotgun and grinned at them.

The desert was too silent, and John worriedly glanced at Dean.

"Dad, aren't the chupacabras attracted to blood?" Dean whispered, glancing at the carcass Nathan was dragging.

"Yeah, they're supposed to be."

A shot rang out, and John whirled.

"Sammy!" Dean roared, and took off sprinting. John was hot on his heels, and skidded to a stop to find Dean checking Sam over efficiently, a dead chupacabra at his feet.

"Sam?" John asked numbly.

"I heard it. Outside the car. I, um, I shot it," Sam said, rather faintly. His eyes—John avoided looking at them most of the time—looked like they were staring up at the starry sky.

"Why did you leave the car?" Dean demanded.

"I didn't want the chupacabra to scratch the Impala," Sam whispered, obviously expecting Dean's reprobation and cringing away.

Dean swore at him, but then the other hunters jogged up, and his mood flipped into that of a proud and protective older brother.

Joshua whistled. "Man, kid. You've got guts." Even Caleb looked vaguely impressed.

"Let's get you boys home," John said. He looked at Sam with new appreciation, even as Dean fussed. Maybe he had underestimated him.

* * *

At the motel, Dean was in the shower, and John sat down across from his youngest son.

"I'm proud of you," he said, haltingly.

"Thanks," Sam said just as awkwardly.

"I, uh, you're doing okay, right? With the Braille?"

"Yessir." Sam's long fingers were twisting together nervously. Good fingers for bow hunting, though that wouldn't be an option anymore.

"Well, sleep, um, well," John fumbled for Sam's shoulder, patting it.

Sam flinched at John's touch. "Thanks."

Dean came out of the bathroom, pausing at the sight of them. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," John said quickly. "Get to bed, Dean." He made his escape into the bathroom and sighed as he leaned against the door. Faintly, he could hear the two of them talking.

"What was that about?"

"Think Dad was trying to talk to me. And kinda failing."

"Yeah, well, he's trying. Don't be too hard on him."

"I know, Dean."

John swallowed and closed his eyes. Times like this, and the ache of missing Mary was too large to ignore. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "I'm so sorry."


	3. Splintered Fears

**Day By Day**

* * *

For **Hacked It Out and Fell**'s prompt: Sam's first serious injury after being blinded. Could be from a hunt or just a day to day accident.

* * *

**Splintered Fears**

* * *

Sam was no stranger to fear. It followed him to bed as he thought about the types of monsters that hunted during the night. It whispered in his ear as he heard people talking about poor little children and bruises. It laughed at him when he stumbled.

Terror, though. Well, Sam was no stranger to it either, but that didn't mean he was used to it.

"Dude, that's so your fault."

"The punk was in my way, I didn't see him!"

"Well, duh, he wasn't going to see you."

Sam's ears were ringing. Why were they ringing? That was where the terror came in, he thought vaguely. Not knowing things. Everything was off-kilter and filled with—

Sam's leg moved and he bit back a scream. His breaths came in quick, sobbing succession.

"Did someone call 911 already?"

"Go get a teacher, idiot!"

"Dean," Sam whimpered. "Dean?"

Strange voices accosted him from all sides, and Sam flinched back as a strange hand fell heavy on his shoulder.

"Hey kid, the paramedics are here. Just stay calm."

Terror reared its ugly head and blanketed him as strange people began manipulating Sam, holding him down. Sam yelled for his brother, but he never came.

"He's panicking, hold him down, now!"

"No," Sam cried out, but everything was heavy and painful and his lungs were burning . . . and then the silence descended.

* * *

There was a beeping. And a low, hoarse diatribe that had a lot of swear words in it. For a moment, Sam tried to open his eyes to see where he was.

But right. He was blind. It had been a year, and Sam had thought he would have been used to it.

But unfortunately not.

His tongue wouldn't work, and instead Sam tried to move enough to get someone's attention, but he was in a strange haze.

"Sammy?"

Sam relaxed the second he heard his brother's voice. Dean was there. Everything would be okay.

"Sam, can you hear me? Move your hand."

With a monumental effort, Sam managed a twitch.

"Okay, that's good. That's real good, Sammy. You're gonna be fine."

Sam wanted to know why he couldn't move, but only managed to make his face twist a little.

"Yeah, I know. You're using that big brain of yours to try and figure things out, huh? Well we're in the hospital, cuz some moronic kid whose lungs I'm going to rip out . . . well, he knocked you down a flight of stairs. Bit of a concussion going on, plus a broken leg."

A broken leg. Sam felt fear lapping at his mind again, and he grunted in an attempt to deny it.

"Hey, don't you freak on me, Sam, or the doctor's'll kick me out."

Sam swallowed, still tense and unhappy.

"Pinky promise I'll read some of those boring books you like, too. Huh? How 'bout that?"

Sam still couldn't quite speak, but managed to reach out a little with his hand, relaxing as his brother's familiar palm landed in his own.

"Go back to sleep, Sammy. You're safe."

* * *

The cast was thick and unwieldy.

Sam hated it.

"Dude, you get to miss school, what's your problem?" Dean asked.

Sam scowled. "I'm stuck barely moving, Dean. Tell me you wouldn't be going out of your mind."

"Yeah," Dean conceded. "I hear you."

"Might as well shoot me in the head and make things easier for everyone," Sam muttered.

"Whoa! Hey, hey, hold up there." Sam's arm was grabbed in a bruising grip. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," Sam said sullenly. "Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, like I won't worry about that. Sammy, c'mon. Don't you trust me?"

Sam fidgeted. "Yeah."

"Then talk to me. You don't want to die, do you?"

"No," Sam muttered. "I'm just . . . useless. Even more than usual."

"I don't care about that, Sammy." Sam felt the couch depress where Dean sat down. "Are you saying I'm a bad brother? Cuz I'm totally gonna be offended if that's what you're saying."

Sam shook his head.

Dean's hand brushed Sam's hair away from where it hung low—Sam tried to keep it that way so it would hide his eyes. "I promise you, you are never a burden, Sammy."

Awkwardly, Sam reached out for his brother, relief flowing through his bones—whole and broken—as Dean's grip was sure and comforting. "Thanks, Dean," he mumbled into Dean's shirt. "You're the best."

"I know, right?"

Sam smiled, and the fear melted away.


	4. Sunglasses and Ice Cream

**Day By Day**

* * *

For the prompt by **Riverdalerider99**: outsider pov fic? Like Sam and Dean in a bar or the library or something and someone notices them.

This one kinda turned out differently than I expected. Hope you're okay with it!

P.S. To people who come along and add prompts, this is set in the current Unseen 'verse, which means anything is fair game pre-S3's Mystery Spot: If you want to prompt during a specific era, it'll have to be before that. Kay thanks!

* * *

**Sunglasses and Ice Cream**

* * *

"Poor kid."

Lori shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs of reading homework. She kept mixing up the characters names. "Huh?"

Her mom was looking sadly at a couple of guys. "It's such a pity."

Lori tilted her head. "What is?"

"Finish your homework, dear." Mommy tapped Lori on the forehead and smiled. "Don't move, okay?"

Lori nodded, watching as Mommy went to the bathroom, nodding at the librarian as she did so. They always came to the library after school. It was Lori's favorite place.

"Dean, I'm telling you, it should be in the newspaper archives."

"I know I'm not the best at researching, but I swear I couldn't find it."

"Look one more time? For me?"

"Someday, that face is not going to work. Look, hang out here, okay?"

Lori looked at the talking men. One of them sat down in the table next to hers, the other marching off to some other part of the library. Sneakily, she scooted off her chair and over to his table.

"Someone there?"

Lori giggled. "You're funny."

His mouth twitched a little. "That right? How come?"

"You're wearing sunglasses indoors. That's silly."

"Maybe a little bit. What's your name?"

"Lori," she said. "With an 'i'."

"Oh yeah? Well, Lori with an 'i'. What are you doing here?"

"I love the library," she announced. "I come here every day."

"Good for you." He had a super nice smile, not a scary one like her teacher. Lori beamed at him.

"I want to be a doctor," she told him.

"That's great, Lori. You can do it. No matter what anyone else says," he said. His expression looked a little sad, and Lori wrinkled up her nose.

"Well, duh," she giggled. "Oh! What's your name?"

"Sam."

"That's a nice name," Lori said politely. Her mom told her it was best to compliment people, that way they would see themselves better.

"You're very sweet." His smile was happy again.

Lori grinned. He knew the complimenting trick too! "Whatcha looking for?" she asked.

"Me and my brother, we're hunting bad guys," Sam explained her seriously. Lori liked it when adults didn't treat her like she was stupid. "And we're trying to figure out when bad things have happened in your town."

"Oh! You mean bad stuff like when people use guns?"

"Uh huh. Things like that."

"I know where they are," Lori said proudly. "Cuz doctors have to be smart and look at stuff, so I know where they are."

"Where are they?" Sam questioned.

"Mrs. Drew doesn't like people reading about the bad stuff. So she hides them in her office. I saw them one day when Mommy had to leave me here late." Lori itched her hand. "Do you like my shirt? It's my favorite."

"I like it," Sam said softly.

"Lori?"

Lori jumped up on her seat. "Mommy!"

Mommy had a frown. "Lori, are you bugging this nice man?"

"No!" Lori shouted indignantly, earning her a shushing from Mrs. Drew. Abashed she whispered, "no."

"She's been great. Lori tells me she wants to be a doctor," Sam interjected.

"That she does," Mommy replied. "I hope she hasn't bothered you too much."

"Not at all." Sam's nice smile came out, but it wasn't quite as bright as before. "It was nice meeting you, Lori."

"Bye, Sam!"

Mommy lifted her out of the seat and carried her off.

"Such a pity," she said again, which made no sense at all. Lori sighed. Grown-ups were so weird some times.

She waved goodbye to Sam, but he didn't wave back. That was rude. Lori pouted.

"Sweetie, do you want ice cream?"

"Ice cream!" Lori forgot all about Sam. "Can I have strawberry?"

"Okey-dokey." Mommy tickled her side and Lori giggled. She loved ice cream.


	5. Switch

**Day By Day**

* * *

**darkeneddaybreak **asked for a role-reversal, where Sam was the one leading Dean. And so, as usual, I rely on my fallback of witches and convenient curses. Hope it works for you! :)

* * *

**Switch**

* * *

Dean wanted it engraved on his headstone: Dean Winchester. He Hated Witches.

Well, he wouldn't have a tomb, because hunters relied on cremation, but still. He opened his mouth to tell Sam that—maybe it would make him laugh—but then shut it just as fast. This curse . . . well, maybe it wasn't a curse for Sam. He might be enjoying it. Maybe he would want it to stay this way. After all, with his mind in Dean's body, he wasn't blind anymore. Dean would be the blind one.

Dean hated himself for immediately reacting to the thought with fear and loathing. He couldn't live like this.

But this was how Sam lived every day. Wasn't Dean always wanting to help Sam? Now he was helping him in the best way possible. Right?

"Dean?"

It was ridiculous, how hearing his own voice from different ears gave him the willies.

The willies? Was he thinking like Sam?

"Dean, are you okay?'

"Yeah, dude, I'm cool. A little disoriented," Dean confessed.

"I'd imagine."

"Is my voice really that deep?" Dean wondered.

"Yeah, I'd say you were overcompensating for something." There was teasing in Sam's voice . . . maybe? It was hard, without the cues of facial expressions.

"Shut up." Dean shifted uncertainly. "So, I have no idea how to do anything. Any hints?"

"Oh, right! Sorry, I had forgotten. Um, so, try standing up."

Dean stood, and immediately felt far too . . . long. "Man, how tall are you?"

"Taller than I thought I was," Sam admitted. Dean turned towards his voice.

"Try walking towards me. Nothing's in the way. Just to practice."

Dean took one shaky step forward and hated it. Where was he? Where was everything? The only thing he could compare was when they had once had a hunt in the sewers, and Dean had gotten separated from Sam and his Dad.

But this was worse.

"Am I ten feet tall now? I feel ten feet tall," he joked, trying to distract himself.

"It would be a bit narcissistic to be impressed with how tall I am, wouldn't it?" Sam wondered. Dean continued to follow his voice.

"I am seriously impressed."

"With what?"

"How you get around so easily." Dean's outstretched fingertips collided with a flannel shirt and an amulet. The instant he realized it wasn't on his own chest, he felt naked. "There you are." There was a little more relief in his voice than he cared to analyze. "So, what's it like being handsome?" he immediately smirked.

"Ha ha." Sam hesitated. "Look, Dean. This was just caused by touching statue, right? So all we have to do is sneak back into the museum and touch it again, maybe break it. Problem solved."

"If you—" Dean swallowed. "—if you want."

Sam's voice—well, Sam's voice through Dean's vocal chords—softened. "Dean, we're switching back." His voice became teasing. "No way I can stand being this short for the rest of my life."

It was an easy out. All Dean had to do was joke back that he was not short, darn it, and that Sam couldn't handle his handsome mug.

He couldn't quite make the joke though, as Sam took Dean's arm (well, his own arm) and placed it on a flannel-clad elbow.

And then Dean was the one following Sam's lead.

* * *

"Ah!"

"What, Sam?" Dean barked. He had a death-grip on the car door, but it wasn't enough.

"Just . . . um, almost hit that car. I'm good though. We're good. Promise."

"Sam, you crash my car and I will murder you," Dean told him sharply.

"We're almost there. Um, yellow means slow, right?"

"Yellow means get ready to stop!" Dean said urgently.

There was a honking noise and a high-pitched laugh from the driver's seat. "I hate driving."

"Get us there alive. Please."

Dean sighed in relief as the car jolted to a stop and Sam shut off the engine. "We're alive."

"Yeah, barely," Sam muttered. "Okay, Dean. I'm going to go steal the artifact. You wait here, and I'll be right back."

"In front of everyone?" he asked in surprise.

"It's already night," Sam murmured. "Hang tight."

He hadn't even realized the entire day had passed. Dean's laugh had a hysterical tinge to it, but thankfully, since Sam was gone, no one heard it. He waited anxiously, sighing in relief as Sam opened the door again.

"I got it. Sensors disabled, I think."

"Good work. So now what?"

"Easy." A calloused hand grasped Dean's. "Hold here."

"Wait. Sam."

His brother paused. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you don't want . . . I mean, you don't have to."

"Dean." Sam's hand briefly touched Dean's face. "It's fine."

His hand was firmly placed on a cold smooth surface. A strange warmth went through it, and Dean paused.

"Was that it?"

"Maybe. It took a couple hours for it to take effect last time, right?"

Dean sighed. "Can you put on some music?"

"That, I can do."

* * *

"How do you not go crazy?"

Sam turned his head towards Dean. "What do you mean?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "I felt like . . . I just felt lost," he admitted feebly.

"I got used to it. I guess." Sam shifted, a sure sign he wasn't really comfortable with the conversation. "I'm kinda hungry."

And diversion. Sam definitely wasn't comfortable.

In a move that was totally out of his own comfort zone, Dean settled his hands on Sam's knees and leaned forward. "Sam. I just want you to know that you are the strongest and bravest person I've ever known."

"Christo?" Sam asked weakly.

Dean grinned. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'll have to make up for my momentary lapse in sanity."

"What are you—"

Dean pounced, fingers attacking Sam's sides until Sam was gasping for breaths between ridiculous high-pitched giggles.

"Dean, stop it, stop!" Sam begged, and after a while, Dean relented.

"Done questioning my right to praise my little brother?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it," Sam gulped in air. "No more tickling though."

Dean sighed dramatically. "Fine, princess."


	6. Cracks

**Day By Day**

* * *

**Ragnhild **asked: How about one small glimpse when Sam has just gone to Stanford. And Dean can't really let go?

* * *

**Cracks**

* * *

"That's the last one."

Dean glanced up from the stitches to find John taking another hit from the bottle. "Close hunt," John muttered.

"Yeah." Dean patted his father's leg and wrapped the bandage quickly.

"How long until we can get the next hunt taken care of?"

Dean gave him a considering look. "The stitches won't hold for anything strenuous. If you have a research-heavy hunt lined up, then we should be good."

"There's a haunting. Probably a lot of research on the house." John grunted and hitched himself higher on the bed. "You up for driving?"

"Sure."

Dean let the pause drag out. They were only two hours away from Stanford. John and Sam had ended on such bad terms, but maybe . . .

"We could go check on Sam before we leave for the hunt," Dean suggested cautiously.

John snorted. "We're doing better than we ever have without having to drag him around," he said callously. "It would be better for you to forget him, Dean."

Rage shivered like fire along Dean's veins. "Don't say that," he responded shortly. "Don't you say that."

John's laughter was bitter and dark. "Kid up and left. I see no reason why we owe him anything."

"It's not about owing him something," Dean snapped.

"Always holding us back," John muttered.

Dean bit his lip so hard that blood flooded his mouth.

"I'm going for a walk," he muttered. "Drink fluids."

He turned and strode out of the room before he did something he would regret.

For a long while, he stood next to the Impala, staring down at its shiny black surface.

"Screw it," Dean muttered. It was two hours. What would two hours hurt?

* * *

Sam woke up. He kept his breaths carefully measured, faking sleep.

There. The specific noise of the window being pried open. His roommate's steady breathing was above him, and Sam slowly snuck a hand out to grab his knife.

The floorboard creaked next to Sam's bed, and it took everything in Sam to keep his breathing steady.

He could feel the motion through his senses in the way the air moved and vibrations that brushed his skin—the way a hand was reaching out. With a sudden turn, Sam grabbed the limb and thrust forward the hand gripping his knife, pushing it up against a vulnerable neck.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" he hissed.

"Sammy."

Sam dropped his knife with a clatter.

"Dean?" he whispered. "What are you . . . what are you doing here?"

"Is that how you greet your big brother?"

"S'm?"

Brady was waking up, and Sam winced. "Go back to sleep, Brady," he murmured. "I've got it."

Carefully, he rose, moving out of his dorm and into the hallway. Dean was his shadow.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked, once he shut the door.

Dean's laugh was all wrong. "No. I was just checking on you."

Sam bristled. "Why? Don't you think I can take care of myself?"

"Sure." Dean's tone was as hard as Sam's. Why had he come, if he wasn't in trouble?

"Dean, what's going on? I don't understand."

"Why did you leave?" The words punched out as if Dean didn't really want to say them, but still did. Sam hesitated.

"I wanted to learn."

"Right."

Sam sighed. "Next time, don't sneak in, alright? Whatever reason you're here . . . I could've killed you."

"Sure, Sammy." Dean's voice was almost acidic in its sarcasm, and Sam flinched back. This was why he had left in the first place. He was tearing them down, making everything worse. Dean would be far better once he realized that he didn't have to care about what happened to Sam anymore.

"Well, that's that then." Sam reached back for his door. "Goodbye, Dean."

"Sam—"

He paused, waiting.

"Good luck with your classes."

Subdued, Sam nodded. "You too, Dean. I—" he ducked his head before deciding it didn't really matter what Dean thought of him anymore. With a swift lunge, he caught his brother around the neck, inadvertently mashing his face into Dean's neck. "I miss you," he mumbled, so quickly he hoped Dean missed it, before quickly turning away and going back into his room.

"Who was that?" Brady sounded curious, and Sam stiffened in a kind of defensiveness.

"Friend."

"Kay."

It took Sam a long time to get back to sleep that night.


	7. Another One

**Day By Day**

* * *

**CommChatter: **The first time Sam meets another blind person?

Hope this works for you! Set pre-Wings, if you want to be technical.

* * *

**Another One **

* * *

Sam drummed his fingers against the desk, quietly echoing some tune of Metallica that was running through his head. The problem with moving around all the time meant that half the time, he had already gone through the material. Sam had entered his new chem class to find the group to be far behind his old curriculum.

And so he sat here, bored.

The bell rang, and Sam waited for the class to file out so he wouldn't have to battle the crowd.

"Sam, do you need any—"

"No thank you," he interrupted. "I'm fine."

Sam slung his book bag over his shoulder, stretching out arm and cane. He had scouted the school the evening before, so he knew where his next class was. Hopefully.

Three, two more steps. Sam entered.

"Hello? I'm Sam, I was told this is my next class."

"Oh, Sam. Nice to meet you. I'm Mr. Smith, and we'll be going through some history. Class won't start for another ten minutes. Would you like to sit down? There are four columns of chairs—now, you can steal a chair in the back if you'd like, but you would be taking someone else's chair."

"There aren't any open chairs?"

"Yes, but they're all at the front. Everyone seems to like avoiding me."

"I think I can manage," Sam said drily. He slowly walked forward, hitting each chair one at a time.

"You know, I think you hold your cane too high above the ground. What type of end do you have?"

Sam froze. "I'm sorry?"

He heard his teacher get up, making more noise than he might expect.

"Did no one tell you? I'm also blind. If you don't mind—"

Sam felt a hand on his own, tapping his knuckles. "May I see your cane?"

"Of course." Sam passed it over, hoping that Mr. Smith would not be perceptive enough to notice the extra weight of the hidden blade.

"I do have a lot of resources at my disposal—I know it can be difficult to find enough books in Braille. I don't suppose you'd be interested in examining some of them?"

"Really?" Sam asked eagerly. "That would be . . . that would be fantastic."

"Here's your cane. Is this your last class of the day?"

"Yes sir."

"Stay after, and we'll arrange something. Have you ever gone to a school for the blind before?"

"No, never. I . . . it's been two and a half years since I was blinded. I've never even met anyone else who . . . You're really blind?"

Mr. Smith's laugh was warm. "Yeah, Sam. You and I are going to figure something out. We have to stick together, right?"

"Yes sir," Sam said, and the familiar phrase held none of his usual ire at having to obey his father.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Dean, he could really help me. He's a teacher. And he went to college, and he knows all about going to school—he was actually blind from birth."

Dean shifted, trying to keep his distrust out of his voice. "That's great, Sammy. But I'm still coming along to make sure he's legit."

"You don't trust me?" Sam asked reproachfully.

"Course I do, geek, but I'm just making one hundred percent sure this guy isn't gonna try something."

"You worry too much, Dean."

"So it's been said." Dean grinned at his little brother, knowing he could hear it in his voice. "We're here."

"Yes, the car has stopped. Wow. It's a miracle," Sam deadpanned.

"Watch it, twerp."

Dean rolled into the teacher's driveway, glancing distrustfully at the clean garden.

"Stepford-looking kind of place," he muttered.

If Sam could, Dean knew he would be rolling his eyes. "C'mon, c'mon," he prompted impatiently.

"Keep your pants on." Dean circled the car, offering his elbow to Sam. "Let's go see how geeky you can be in one hour."

The door open at the second ring, a smiling woman drying her hands off on her apron. Stepford, way too Stepford.

"You must be Sam," she said. "My husband's been expecting you. You are—"

"—his brother, Dean."

The woman's smile was congenial. "Would you like to join me in the kitchen? Sam can go to the study."

"I'll be sticking with him," Dean said firmly. "That's my condition."

Her smile grew a little more understanding. "You're a good brother, Dean."

Dean felt his ears heating up from his embarrassment—he would be eternally grateful whenever he could finally grow out of that habit.

"Don't compliment him, he'll get a big head," Sam grinned. Dean shoved him lightly, and the two of them moved further into the house.

"Sam, glad you could make it." Dean watched warily as the older man stood, reaching out his hand. "And are you Dean?"

"How'd you know?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sam mentioned he had an older brother, and you're about six feet tall and younger. Process of elimination."

Impressed, Dean crossed his arms. "Yeah? How'd you know that?"

The teacher grinned. "It's all about listening, kid. Now, Sam, how's your Shakespeare?"

* * *

"So you're happy, Sam?"

"I suppose." Sam took his hands off of the page. "Why?"

Mr. Smith's voice was cautious. "You never talk about your father, or really explain why you move around so much. Your situation is not ideal, Sam, that much is clear. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Sam grimaced. "It's not that bad," he hedged. "Look, everything you've given me—the books, the training . . . it means everything to me. You're helping a lot."

Sam could feel the way Mr. Smith was leaning forward. "And I'm glad of that. I just think I could help more."

"No, I don't think so," he said quietly.

"What about college?"

Sam went still. "What do you mean?"

"You may be trapped right now. But how about after you graduate?"

"Blind people don't go to college," Sam laughed.

"How do you think I became a teacher?" Mr. Smith asked coolly. Sam felt his face heat up.

"Sorry," he uttered repentantly.

"Nothing to apologize for." Mr. Smith put a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, don't limit yourself. You may not be able to see the stars, but that doesn't mean you can't reach for them like others."

Sam ducked his head. "Yes sir."


	8. Desperate Straits

**Day By Day**

* * *

**Mysterymadchen: **Sam having to risk his life to save and take care of his big brother

**A/N:** This is a bit darker than most of my fare, so this is a warning for that. To play it safe, message me if you'd like to know why before reading.

Also, I have loved doing this prompt series. I have about one or two more that I am planning on writing for this (unless some more are added in the future-this is still open for prompts!), and a couple that I may actually split off and write separate stories for (the prompts are that good, guys).

The point of this is to say: I love all of you, and thanks for reading! I'm going on vacation, so I'll be gone for a couple weeks. No worries though, I'll be back.

* * *

**Desperate Straits**

* * *

Sam mopped at Dean's brow one more time, beginning to feel real fear.

"Dean, what do I do?" he asked once again, but Dean's ramblings only picked up in volume slightly before going back to a quiet discussion on the benefits of shotguns.

Sam bit his lip. Dean's fever was too high. Maybe? He couldn't actually read any temperature read-outs, so he would have to rely on his senses.

And he really had no idea.

Dean needed medicine, right?

Sam reached for his cane, petting Dean's sweaty hair one more time. "I'll be right back, Dean," he promised. "I'll get you some medicine, kay?"

Cold wind hit him as soon as he opened the door. Shivering, Sam slipped outside.

Sam took two steps and made it onto the parking lot. Another twenty steps, and he found the edge of the parking lot. A car roared past, sending Sam a step back again.

"It's just a road," he whispered to himself. "It's just a road."

He listened, waiting until it seemed quiet.

And then he darted forward.

A car honking nearly frightened Sam out of his wits, but he continued forward until he tripped against the curb on the other side.

Breathing shakily, Sam made his way inside.

"Excuse me?" he ventured. "Could I get some help?"

The person at the register sighed. "What is it, kid?"

"My brother's sick. Do you have medicine?"

"Aisle three."

"Please, I don't know which one to get," Sam told the cashier desperately. "He has a fever, and he's sweating, and he's incoherent."

"You should take him to a hospital." The voice was disinterested.

"I can't, please help me," Sam cried.

"Hey, hang on here. What is it this young man needs?" A new voice butted in.

"Medicine for my brother. Please."

"I'll help you. Take my hand."

Uncomfortably, Sam grasped the proffered clammy hand. "Um, thank you?"

"Come over this way. Look, we'll grab some medicine, here. These should do it."

Sam was tugged back towards the register, his cane knocking against the floor. Bottles clattered to the counter.

"That'll be twenty five dollars and thirteen cents."

Sam rummaged in his pocket, dumping out everything he had.

"Not enough, kid."

"I've got it." The congenial voice of the older man interrupted again.

"Thank you," Sam whispered.

"It's the least I could do. Where do you live? Did you walk here, or did you take a cab?"

"I'm close. It's fine."

"I'll walk you back."

Sam exited the store, following the man.

"I need to cross the street."

It was a lot easier with a guide. Sam breathed a sigh of relief as they made it.

"Thanks for all of your help."

"Hang on, there." The man halted.

Sam froze. "What?"

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

Sam pulled his hand out of the man's. "Um, I just did, didn't I? I'm sorry, I don't have any money to pay you back, but I—"

"That's not the kind of payment I'm looking for." The man yanked Sam close in a way that left Sam with a complete picture of the man's intentions. Sam cried out in fear and anger, slamming his fist into the guy's solar plexus and his heel into his instep. The man howled in pain, and Sam finished off by kneeing him in the groin.

Sam didn't stick around as the man—the friggin' pervert—collapsed, swiftly crossing the mostly-empty parking lot and going straight to the motel.

But he couldn't go back to the room; he would lead the freak right back to Dean.

In a panic, Sam went to the right, finding a room that was about two doors away from theirs. He knocked, but there was no response. Swiftly, Sam dug through his pockets, fishing out his lock-pick set.

His fingers were sweaty in fear. Any second, and a meaty hand would come slamming down on his shoulder, and Sam would—

There. The door opened, and Sam slammed it shut behind him, crossing the room to the back window. It was sticky with rust, but Sam managed to open it enough to slip out, dragging his cane and the medicine behind him.

He made it to their window, knocking against it desperately.

"Dean, c'mon, please, be awake, please please please—"

"S'mmy?" Dean's voice was muted by the glass.

"Open the window, Dean," Sam pleaded.

The click of the lock was the best sound Sam had ever heard. He nearly ripped off his fingernails in his scramble to pry open the window. Sam scrambled inside, quickly shoving down the window behind him and re-locking it.

"We have to—we have to lock the room," Sam gasped, stumbling across the room to the door. His trembling hands found the door locked and he sighed in relief.

"S'm, wha's wrong?"

Sam froze, spinning and reaching out. "Dean? C'mon, you have to be in bed. Look, I have medicine, okay? Lie down."

"How'd you get medicine?"

Dean was sounding a little clearer, and Sam could not handle a cross-examination right now.

"Lie down, Dean. Here." Sam ripped open one of the bottles. "Take some of this."

"Y'r a good kid, S'mmy."

"Thanks," Sam whispered. He felt Dean slump against the pillows, and he placed a careful hand against his brother's forehead.

"We're going to be okay, Dean, it's fine," he said, both for Dean and himself. He shivered in fear; sharing germs or not, he pushed in close to his brother's overheated body, hugging him close. "We'll be fine," he whispered. Maybe if he said it enough, it would be true.


	9. Pool Cues

**Day By Day**

* * *

**in-silent-seas: **Duuuude I love outsider povs. They make me so happy sometimes. If you felt like it perhaps you could do another. Maybe a time where Dean has to help Sam in public or something xD tis up to you

definitely not my best, but there's only so much I can do. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pool Cues**

* * *

Rick sighed, itching at his stubbled jawline. It was boring, being the designated driver. His friend was past the mellow stage and far into the obnoxious loud drunken stage. Still, at least he wasn't at home alone, waking up after another rough night of bad dreams.

"Wanna call it a night?" Rick suggested to Ben.

Ben grinned at him. "Duuuude, the party's just started!"

Rick sighed. "That's what I thought."

A whoop went up near the pool tables, and Rick turned to see a man in a leather jacket grin and hold out a hand. His opponent was a large man—trucker, from the look of him—and was very unhappy.

"Ooh, there's gonna be a fiiiight," Ben slurred. "Wanna bet on who wins?"

As they watched, another man entered the scene. Guy was taller than both of the other two, and pressed in close to the leather-jacket-guy.

"Look, it was just a game. You agreed to it, right?"

The tall one's voice was clear and reasonable . . . not the best combination with angry drunks.

Sure enough, the trucker shoved him—Rick was surprised to see the guy go sprawling, rather than holding his ground. That was when the man's face rolled his way, and the glasses slipped off.

Rick whistled. He was blind.

"You take your disabled freak and get out of here," the trucker snarled.

The leather-clad one had gone completely still, a tension that Rick could read from across the room.

"You should not have done that." The guy's voice was quiet, but it carried. A second later, and he had lunged, striking quick and fast. Rick admired his form.

"Hey! You yahoos take it out of my bar!"

There was the distinctive noise of a shotgun, and Rick pulled Ben back out of the bartender's path. The three scuffling froze in some strange snapshot of their fight, the blind one tense and blocking the bartender's gun from pointing at the other guy.

"Sammy, get back," the leather jacket one growled.

"Go on, out!"

"Ben, c'mon," Rick muttered, dragging his inebriated friend away from some girl he was starting to chat up.

"Maaan, you suck."

"Uh huh." Rick kept an eye on the blind kid shuffling out, and on the others that trailed them—the trucker looked like he had friends.

"You girls want to try that again?" the trucker growled.

The leather-clad one smirked. "What d'you think, Sammy? Think we can take these bozos?"

"Dean, c'mon, I told you we shouldn't hustle tonight."

"Three, I've got the two left, right one at two o'clock."

"Fine, fine."

Rick opened his mouth to offer assistance of some kind, but the two sprang into action before he could. The one named Dean kicked the middle trucker in the stomach while backhanding the other before slamming them down to the ground. The blind one—Sammy?—darted forward, barreling straight into the trucker and taking him to the ground. Rick gaped, watching as he expertly twisted the man's arm and kept continuous contact while knocking the living daylights out of the guy.

Next to him, Ben swore.

"Nice one, Sammy," Dean praised.

"Could you stop fighting with the civilians?" the blind one asked exasperatedly.

"Dude! How'd you do that!" Ben's voice was overly loud, and instantly the two of them whirled, looking like they were ready for round two.

"What's it to you?" Dean challenged.

Rick didn't care for the belligerence, and pulled Ben away. "Hey, we're good. Just thought you guys had some cool moves."

"You're blind? Maan, how'd you do that?" Ben gaped. Rick wanted to hit himself in the face. He settled for hitting Ben.

The guy smiled bemusedly. "C'mon, Dean, let's get out of here."

Dean glared at them, and Rick tried his best to look humble and inoffensive.

"You are such an idiot," Rick growled at Ben.

"Ughhh, I don't feel good."

Rick sighed. "Let's get you home, huh?"

He caught sight of the two guys getting into an awesome black car—Rick wasn't one for cars, himself, but for that, maybe he would be.

Ben started throwing up, and Rick wrinkled his nose. He had other things to do tonight. "Gross, dude."

When he looked up again, the car was gone.

* * *

Rick woke up gasping, heart galloping and his chest aching.

A crash downstairs told him why he had been startled awake.

Rick grabbed his baseball bat—leftover from high school—and crept down the stairs.

"I'm telling you, Dean, the research was right. Houses all around the starting point of the curse are affected, this one has got to be it."

"Yeah, well, next time you're staying behind."

"I didn't mean to break it!"

"Hey!" Rick's voice came out a little too squeaky to be intimidating, but he hefted the bat anyway. "What do you think you're doing?"

Flicking on the lights, Rick blinked as he saw the two from the other night. "You?"

Leather-jacket-guy—Dean—grinned sheepishly. "Uh, hi. How are you doing?"

"What the—"

"Do you live here alone?" the blind one interjected.

Rick swallowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"They target lonely people." Rick saw Dean give the blind one—Sam, that was it—a sharp look.

"You two are nut jobs. I'm calling the police," he said.

"You've been having nightmares." Sam's voice was so convicted, so certain, that Rick stopped.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nightmares. Separate the word into two. Night Mares. They plague lonely people, suck up their energy. You've been exhausted lately, right?"

Rick weakly supplied, "I haven't been sleeping well. That's why I'm tired."

The leather one stepped up. "Let us help. It's a simple ritual, and then we'll be gone. C'mon, promise, it won't hurt."

The blind one shuffled forward slightly, holding out a bag. "Keep this in the house for twenty-four hours."

Dean smoothly took the bag from his companion's hand as Rick made no move to take it. "We'll need to prick your finger. Blood. Strong stuff."

"Crazy," Rick whispered.

The blind kid began chanting in another language. Dean held out a penknife for Rick to take.

"I do this, and you'll leave?" he asked suspiciously.

"Cross my heart," Dean grinned.

Slowly, Rick cut his thumb. He glared at the two. "Were you planning on cutting me even if I didn't wake up?"

"Yup," Dean said casually, sticking his hands in his pocket. "Sam, we good?"

Sam seemed to wrap up his mumbo-jumbo and nodded.

"Happy dreams."

Rick watched them leave, feeling rather dazed. What a bunch of whack-jobs.

But his nightmares disappeared. And Rick wondered.

* * *

**A/N:** Trying to get back on the horse and get some more prompts done! Obviously not my best writing, but I'm working on it. Hope you like! :)


	10. Wheels Keep Turning

**Day By Day**

* * *

I am trash and combined prompts.

**persianflower**: you could maybe write sthg. about bobby's reaction(s) to sam's blindness and how -you think- he'd handle it over the years? [perhaps even in comparison to john?]

**kittyfan12: **what about if Sam had an injury that required him to be in a wheel chair? I dunno, just thought the emotions with that situation would be interesting.

this will make the most sense if you read Splintered Fear first! :)

* * *

**Wheels Keep Turning**

* * *

"Thanks for this, Bobby, I owe you one."

Bobby grunted, his eyes on the sons rather than the father. Dean was kneeling in front of Sam, murmuring words that Bobby couldn't hear.

"Dean, we need to go."

Bobby turned away, giving them some privacy as Dean embraced Sam.

"Bobby, you take care of him." Dean stood in front of Bobby. Bobby wasn't exactly intimidated by the kid, but now that Dean was taller than him, it was easy to see how much power Dean was able to show.

"You know I will," he said gruffly.

Dean glanced one more time at Sam—something close to anguish in his face—before following his father.

"Well, Sam, looks like it's the two of us."

"Yes sir." Sam looked scrawny in his wheelchair, almost sixteen, yet hadn't quite hit a decent growth spurt yet.

"Why don't we get you inside?" Bobby suggested.

Sam nodded his head, a slow submissiveness that Bobby couldn't remember Sam ever having before he was . . . well, before he turned thirteen.

Bobby carefully wheeled Sam up the boards he had laid down to get up the porch. Sam docilely let him, keeping his hands in his lap.

"Care to clue me in? How'd you bust your foot?" Bobby asked, trying to get Sam to open up.

Sam ran a hand across his mouth. "Fell down some stairs at school," he muttered.

"Ah," Bobby said knowledgeably. "Not a tale for the ladies then. Shall we come up with a cover story?"

He surprised a laugh out of Sam. "That's okay," he said, smiling a little.

Bobby carefully maneuvered Sam and his wheelchair through his semi-cleaned up house. "Okay, Sam, so how 'bout we set some ground rules? You don't push yourself and try to get around without your wheelchair. I will not have Dean kill me because you've screwed up your foot worse. So that means you will not feel bad about asking me for anything, yeah?"

Sam shifted, but nodded jerkily.

"Rule two. If you're bored, tell me. I may be an old man, but I can still come up with some stuff to keep you occupied."

Sam nodded again. Bobby had been hoping for some verbal response, but he would take what he could get.

"It's nearly lunch. You want a sandwich?"

"Yes sir."

* * *

There were awkward moments. Bobby wasn't so hot with the whole . . . well, the whole being a good—not father—caretaker. Whatever. He had tried to get Sam in the shower and ended up dumping him on the floor by accident. More often than not, Sam refused any food, and with how skinny the kid was, Sam could not afford to skip meals. And conversation was pretty awkward.

Not to mention, the wheelchair was unwieldy and ridiculously hard to get around.

"I'm going to go grab us some pizza, Sam."

In the past, Bobby could remember how Dean would have loudly declared his choices to be pepperoni, while Sam would have whined that Hawaiian was the best.

Now, Sam just nodded.

"What kind?" Bobby prompted.

"Whatever you like. I don't care," Sam said.

Bobby gave in, leaving with a sigh.

The house he returned to was dark as the night outside. Bobby started feeling alarmed before he rolled his eyes at himself. Sam didn't need the light, of course he wouldn't turn them on.

"Sam? I'm back."

"Bobby." Sam's voice sounded . . . off. "Help."

Bobby flicked the lights on, alarmed, and gasped.

"Sam!" Bobby darted forward, immediately pulling at the heavy drawing table that pinned him. "What happened?"

"Tried to stand, hop around. Dragged it down on top of me." Sam grunted in pain as Bobby gently turned him onto his back.

"Man, those are some nasty bruises," Bobby muttered. "C'mon, we'll get you some ice, huh?"

"Sorry," Sam apologized as Bobby lowered him onto the couch.

"Sam, nothing to be sorry about. 'Cept for trying to get ahead of yourself, there. C'mon, hang there. I'll get you fixed up."

For a moment, Bobby watched as Sam shrank in on himself, practically apologetic for his existence. Gently, he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, and then moved off to find some pain meds and ice.

* * *

Time passed almost . . . well, if Bobby was honest, it was slow. Sam couldn't do much beyond read his books in Braille, and Bobby could only offer food and read aloud when the silence became too stifling.

Bobby never had been good with words.

"Bobby, I have a question."

He could almost miss the days when he was Uncle Bobby. Snapping his book shut, Bobby turned to Sam. "Yeah, Sam?"

"How did my mother die?"

Bobby blinked. "You—you don't know?"

Sam shrugged. "Before I was blinded, the journal was always in Dad's hands, and Dean never said anything. When we translated the journal into Braille, he skipped the section he has on that."

"Oh." Bobby shifted. "I'm not sure if I'm the right person to talk about this, kid."

"You're the only person." Sam's face in that moment was old and tired. "And I need to know. You know that I do."

Bobby's sigh felt like it was torn out of him. "Okay, kid. Well, I heard it secondhand, you hear? Your pa went to Missouri first, a known psychic in Lawrence. She steered him to Pastor Jim, and he told me."

"Yeah?"

"Your dad was asleep downstairs when he heard the fire. He came into your room and your mom was on the ceiling. Slice across the belly and fire behind her until it caught her as well."

Sam swallowed. "And no sign of what did it?"

"If there was, John never said anything." Bobby carefully observed Sam. "Why the curiosity?"

Sam's expression was entirely fake in its wry joviality. "Wouldn't you be curious?"

Bobby frowned. "Sure, Sam." He had some work to do, so he raised himself with a groan.

A thought occurred to him, and Bobby turned back from where he had been leaving to go work on the cars. "Sam, you know it wasn't your fault."

Yahtzee. Sam had frozen, face caught in an expression that Bobby used to equate to Sammy stealing cookies from the cupboard.

"I don't—" Sam started.

"Sam. C'mon, boy. You were only a baby. It wasn't your fault."

"It was in my room," Sam stated.

"Yeah. Well, that don't mean nothing when it comes to supernatural things, you hear me? Your mom was trying to protect you, if anything, and that does not mean it was your fault. It just means she loved you a lot."

Sam had deliberately turned his wheelchair so that Bobby couldn't see his face.

"Okay. I'm gonna go take a nap," he said shakily.

Bobby took an awkward step forward, resting his hand briefly on Sam's tousled hair. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam murmured as he left.

"Anytime, kid," Bobby said, and surprised himself with how he actually meant it.

* * *

**A/N:** I know i didn't quite match the prompts, but, well, i tried. Bleh. Thanks for reading :)


	11. Muted

**Day By Day**

* * *

**Mahsati: **:) ok, I know you're on vacation, but if you decide to take more prompts, here's another one: an ear infection (or something supernatural) leaves Sam with temporary poor or inexistent hearing sense

* * *

**Muted**

* * *

The first hint Dean got that something was wrong was Sam falling out of bed.

"Sam?"

His brother didn't respond, instead levering himself onto hands and knees, shaking slightly.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was tentative in a way that made Dean fearful in spite of himself. Sam had probably just woken up from a nightmare.

"Hey, buddy, what's up?" Dean knelt next to Sam, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Sam's reaction made Dean fall back on his rear, as Sam shoved his hand away, yelling in fright—anger?—and scrambling away.

"Get back! Who are you? What did you do to me?"

Dean gaped at him. "Dude, what's your deal?"

Sam was fumbling, arm finding the bed. His movement was a swift lunge, throwing himself onto the bed and slipping his gun out from under his pillow.

"Stay away from me and tell me where Dean is!"

"Sam, it's me."

With one hand, Sam reached up to his ear, rubbing at it with a frown. "What did you do to me?"

"Sam . . ." Dean kept a careful eye on Sam's gun, slowly moving forward. Sam obviously had no idea what was going on, and neither did Dean.

"I swear, if you hurt my brother, I will kill you."

Right. This had passed far beyond territory Dean was comfortable with. He slammed into Sam, pushing the gun hand aside, blocking Sam's fist with his other.

"Sammy! It's me, stop it!" Dean growled, but Sam wasn't listening. With a grunt, Dean absorbed the knee to the gut and snagged Sam's left hand, pulling it close to Dean's chest, against the amulet.

Sam froze, fist uncurling and softly touching the amulet. "Dean?" he asked.

Dean took his hand and moved it to his face, letting Sam know it was him.

"Dean, I can't . . .why can't I hear you?"

"I dunno," Dean answered automatically. He groaned when he realized Sam couldn't hear him, and instead put Sam's hand on his shoulder so he would feel Dean's shrug.

"My head's killing me," Sam told him.

Dean frowned, gently maneuvering Sam's head to peek at Sam's ears. Were they supposed to be that red on the inside?

"Maybe we should get you checked out," he muttered. Carefully, he traced out 'doctor?' on Sam's palm.

Sam shook his head, looking a little green after he did so. "Probably ear infection," he said too loudly.

"Can you hear me at all?" Dean asked. When he didn't get any response, he sighed. "This is gonna be real fun, I can tell."

* * *

His head felt heavy and light, full of hot air. Sam couldn't remember feeling so disoriented since . . . well, since he was first blinded. He relied so heavily on hearing. What if he never got his hearing back? What if it was damaged, and he would be forever blind and deaf, completely helpless, as if he hadn't been helpless enough before.

"Dean?" he called.

There was no response, and Sam felt terror writhe in his insides. It was fine. Dean was just going to the bar. Or getting some food.

Slowly, Sam stood, not able to hear the bedspread shifting from his motion. A step. No echo to read his location to other objects. Another step.

He had to get out of the room. Sam hid his gun in his jacket and shrugged it on. He could do this.

There was warmth. The sun. A light breeze that made his hair pull across his forehead.

No sound, though. No indication of anything or anyone.

It should have been peaceful, but Sam just found it terrifyingly lonely.

Someone bumped into him, and Sam had to force himself not to completely freak.

How could he even be worth anything? Like this, he was practically a vegetable. Pull the plug already, right?

A warm hand fell on his neck, and Sam flinched before another hand dragged Sam's to the amulet.

"Dean," Sam murmured.

There was no response, but Sam could sense his brother anyway. Hands propelled him forward, back towards the room. Sam struggled a little, shaking his head.

"Too close. Can't feel anything in there," he said.

Dean turned Sam, taking him in some other direction. Leaning on Dean heavily, Sam tried to use his other senses to get a feel for his surroundings, but there was no chance.

When Sam was settled inside the Impala, a weight dropped off of him. He was safe.

The car started, and Sam jerked in surprise. Duh. Of course they would be going somewhere. But where?

"Where are we going?" Sam asked into the silence.

His hand was taken, and a 'B' traced out.

"No, Dean," Sam said urgently. "C'mon, no."

'Y?'

"I can't have Bobby . . ." Sam nearly swallowed his words, but continued through. "I don't want him to see me like this."

Dean's hand came down gently on Sam's aching head. Sam had no way of knowing whether Dean would ignore his opinion or not, but when it came down to it, he trusted his brother. That was all he had to remember.

Pills were placed in his hand, and Sam docilely swallowed them.

The thrum of vibrations went through the car in a beat Sam knew better than his own heartbeat. He could imagine Dean singing along to the Metallica soundtrack, and he smiled.

Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

**A/N:** This is super short, I apologize. I have had zero inspiration, what with school starting and whatnot. Though there is another AU I have been working on that I'm kinda excited for. Not sure how it's gonna turn out, we'll see. Anyway, as my birthday gift to you: this short piece. Hopefully I'll come up with something more later! :)


	12. Practice Round

**Day By Day**

* * *

**authorwannabe101**

I was wondering if you would do the beginning of "All Hell Breaks Loose". You started it off with the dream of the YED, and I was hoping that you would do when Sam first woke up, how he handled it, what the others thought of him being blind, stuff like that.

* * *

**Practice Round**

* * *

"I can go get it, man."

Dean sat back. "Yeah? Thanks. We're twenty steps away, door's on the right side of the building. You get out, walk straight, and it'll be on your left."

Sam nodded, smiling and got out.

"Pie, Sammy! Don't forget my pie!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Sam picked his way carefully up to the building, Dean humming with his music while he waited.

The radio started going out, and Dean frowned, tapping it impatiently. Sam was the one who knew where the tapes were buried among their stuff. He'd better hurry back.

Dean looked up and a wave of fear washed over him.

"Sam!" he called, even though he was still inside the Impala. Stumbling out, he ran into the building, finding the bodies of customers and workers lying in their own blood.

And no Sam.

* * *

Sam mumbled, "Dean," but got no response. That was strange.

He was sleeping on wood boards. That was also strange.

Slowly, he sat up, feeling the rough splinters under his fingertips. "Dean!" he called.

His voice echoed strangely. Wherever he was, it was a wide, open space. He carefully got to his feet, taking slow steps forward across the floor or deck.

"Dean!" he tried again. Nothing.

Sam let himself be quiet for a long while, trying to sense his surroundings as best as he could.

A scream broke the slightly zen state Sam had achieved and he stumbled against the house.

Sam pushed forward through the vast space, forcing his own panic down. Someone needed help. He could help them.

He found the door, trembling fingers finding the lock.

"Hey, hey, stop yelling. Hang on, I'll get it." He pulled out his lock picks from his back pocket and got to work. Twenty seconds. Dean would've been proud, if he wasn't probably dead.

"Sam?"

Sam backed up into a defensive posture. "Who's there?"

"Sam, it's me, Andy."

"Andy?"

"Yeah, man." A hand came out of nowhere, landing on his arm. Sam flinched and it disappeared. "Sorry. What's going on?"

"I don't know."

Another shriek filled the air.

"Sam?"

"Lead me to them," Sam commanded. Andy's hand awkwardly landed on his arm again and Sam shifted his grip, grasping Andy's elbow himself. "Just walk. I can handle it."

Door number two had Ava behind it.

Sam didn't like the way this was going.

* * *

It was easier to let the soldier—Jake, Sam thought his name was—to take charge and lead the group. Sam wasn't willing to step in and voice his opinions, despite the way Andy kept hovering near him.

"Sam, what do you think?" Ava blurted out.

The others went silent, and Sam grimaced. "I think the demon's gathered us together for a reason. We have to stick together, try and protect each other from whatever's coming."

"A demon. Are you crazy?" One girl whose name Sam couldn't remember sounded caustically disbelieving.

"No, I'm not. Did you think your abilities came from thin air?" Sam snapped. "My brother could be dead thanks to this thing. So believe me or not, but if you're not ready, you will die."

"Sam, what do we do?" Andy asked, voice hushed.

Sam took a deep breath. "We need to find weapons. Anything iron. Salt, if there is any."

"You're crazy. You're all crazy," the girl said again.

"Hey, we shouldn't just dismiss—"

"I'm out of here."

Sam could only listen as she left. The others stood silently, yet frightened and tense—Sam could hear it in their breathing.

"Alright," he said firmly. "Find the weapons."

The wind picked up a little. A ghostly shriek rent the air, and Sam growled, "hurry."

A heavy poker was thrust into his hand. "Sam, what is that?" Andy's voice was shrill.

"Where is it?" Sam growled.

"In front of us, it's gonna kill us, oh—"

Sam slashed out, the heavy rush of sulfur telling him he had just dissipated the demon.

"So, I think I speak for all of us when I say we believe you," Jake said.

"We need to find the other girl," he said.

"Um, it's a little late for that." Sam felt Jake approach his shoulder, and automatically stiffened. "She's been hanged."

* * *

Jake's voice startled him. "It's impressive."

Sam gripped his piece of iron a little tighter. "What is?"

"The way you move, get around . . . were you blind from birth?"

The questions Sam got about his blindness had varied through the years from insensitive and curious to removed and awkward. It was nice to get someone straightforward, from time to time.

"Nah. When I was thirteen. Monster sucked my eyesight. No, I'm not making it up."

"Wow. And you kept going, kept . . . you called it hunting?" Jake asked.

Sam shrugged halfheartedly. "I'm mostly deadweight, but I help out my brother when I can." Jake was silent for a moment, and Sam finally asked. "I know everyone else's, but your ability, what is it?"

"Strength. Here." Jake took Sam's makeshift cane from his hand and grunted, a strange creaking sound emitted as well. He passed it back, and Sam found it bent in half.

"That's a skill that would come in handy," Sam murmured. Jake straightened it out for him and took Sam's elbow.

"Helped me save some lives. We should get back to the others."

"Yeah."

"You're scared."

Sam jerked to a halt. "No, I'm—"

"It's okay. I get it, you're the expert here, and those other kids look up to you. That's great. But I know what it's like, leading because you have to, not because you want to."

Sam choked out a laugh. "Yeah. My brother, he's the leader. And he could be . . . he could be dead, I just don't know anymore."

"Well, in any case, I'm glad that you're on my side, Sam."

"Same to you, Jake." Sam let Jake lead him forward, silently breathing a prayer that Dean was okay, no matter what. Sam couldn't live with himself if Dean was gone.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally trying to get re-started with Unseen . . . never fear, the end is coming soon! (though maybe that's a bad thing haha). Anyway, not sure I directly got this prompt right, but I hope it suffices!

Oh and if you can't remember how this turns out, go to my fic Grand Arena. :)


	13. Bleak Celebrations

**Day By Day**

* * *

**Shannanigans: **_Drunk or drugged and blind would be interesting..._

ended up sort of following Graduation Day (the first story in Day By Day). This is kinda dark, guys, just as a warning.

* * *

**Bleak Celebrations**

* * *

"This is great, isn't it Sammy?" Dean looped an arm around his little brother. "You're finally free, and we can roam the good ol' USA without anything to stop us."

"Dean . . ." Sam started.

"I know that 'Dean.' That's the 'I hate being fun and want to go home' voice. Dude, live a little! You were valedictorian, c'mon, that's gotta be cause for celebration, right? Look at all these geek high schoolers celebrating, and you're one of them, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts. Unless you wanna get laid. You wanna get laid? I can find you a girl, huh?" Dean sloppily took a pull from his beer. "I should find myself a girl too."

"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate your celebrating, but I need to talk to you about something."

"Yo, Sam the man!"

Dean turned, dragging Sam with him, to survey some high school jock. "Who're you?" he asked, semi-belligerently. No one was allowed to give Sam nicknames except for Dean.

"Eliot?" Sam asked.

"Dude, your name's Eliot?" Dean snorted.

The guy's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

"Nothing, cool name." Dean grinned and ruffled Sammy's hair. "This your friend, Sammy?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam's minute frown. "I mean, sure, we were in English together, but—"

"Hey, man, let's go find the others, huh? We've been looking for you."

"Sammy, I'll catch up with you later, bro." Dean good-naturedly shoved Sam into the arms of his friend. "I'm gonna go out back, if you know what I mean." He watched Eliot lead Sam away, frowning momentarily as Eliot let Sam hit his hip on the corner of a chair. "Incompetent idiot," he muttered.

"Hope you're not talking about me."

Dean let his gaze glide appreciatively up the girl's body. If she was legal, he was so interested. "Darlin', not even close."

* * *

"Hey guys, it's Sam!"

"Oh, Saaaam."

"Hey," Sam said, awkwardly. They had been at this school for a semester, and he had only barely been able to pin voices to identities. Drunk and slurred voices were impossible to place.

"Um, I'm thinking you don't know who we are. So I'm Marcie, that's Derrick, and Eliot's the one whose arm you're holding like a bad prom date." The girl's voice was caustically slow and exaggerated, like he was a baby. Sam snatched his hand away from Eliot's elbow and felt the heat rise in his face.

"Marcie, you're so mean! Here Sam, you know me, I'm Sarah. Here, have a drink."

Sam took the shot glass, murmuring thanks and downing it, trying to hide his distaste.

"Well, Mr. Valedictorian is a little less of an uptight snitch than we thought."

"Snitch?" Sam repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Like you're going to pretend that you're not the one who told the principal about Eliot's drugs."

"What? I didn't even know."

"Can it, Winchester, we saw you outside his office," Derrick sniped.

"Talking about transferring my credits," Sam insisted. A little off-balance, he put a hand out for support on the table.

"Yeah, teacher's pet. Don't think I'm over that," Marcie snarled. "I was all set for valedictorian, but you swoop in and take it. My parents won't get me a car now."

"Sorry," Sam said, slurring slightly. He had only had one beer while with Dean, and the shot just now, he wasn't sure why he felt so off. It was like the first injury he had ever gotten, when he was twelve, and the ghost had broken his arm, and the alcohol Dad and Dean had given him had made him feel strange.

"Dude, what are you talking about?" Eliot laughed.

Whoops, did he say that aloud?

"Hey, let's go outside, man."

Hands crowded him, pushing him through the noisy house.

"Wait, Dean," Sam mumbled.

"Dean, is that your boyfriend? Cute. Well, he's ditched you for the cheerleaders, so I guess you bet on the wrong guy there, didn't you?" Sarah giggled.

"No, he's—"

Sam felt a foot slam into the tender back of his knee, dead-legging him and sending him to the ground. Soft grass caught his fall. They must be in the backyard.

"C'mon guys, let's have some fun."

"I dunno, doesn't seem fair," Eliot said. "But he wasn't being fair when he came in and screwed us over."

A foot slammed into Sam's stomach, and he convulsively threw up.

"Ew," Marcie whined. "C'mon, let's just take his clothes, make him run around naked or something."

Hands grabbed at Sam, and he struggled, fighting the strange lassitude and dizziness.

"How's that feel, valedictorian?"

"Wanna give your speech now?"

A voice broke through the confusing haze. "You're all dead." Dean was here. It was okay.

* * *

When Sam had gone into the corner with his friends, Dean had been relatively pleased. Sam had a tendency to hang out at home rather than try and branch out at schools, so it was good he could finish on a good note at this last time in school.

Then he had been busy for a bit with a rather cute cheerleader—legal, he wasn't an animal—and hadn't thought of Sam for a while.

The next time he looked up, Sam had disappeared, along with his friends. Probably just hanging out, but Dean hated having Sam out of his sight, so he meandered through the crowd, the pulsing music keeping him from calling out for his brother.

The lack of Sam made his search a little more focused.

By the time he found him, adrenaline was pumping through Dean's body, threatening violence.

And then he saw them.

There had been several times in his life when he'd seen red, and each time it had to do with Sam and the crap his little brother had to go through.

Seeing him being mocked and stripped naked by a bunch of coward kids had to top the charts though.

"You're all dead," he snarled. The smarter ones in the group—even though they were all obviously brainless idiots—looked around.

The others kept screwing with Sam.

Dean wasn't sure what happened next, but when it was over, he was standing with the whimpering high schoolers pissing themselves in the lawn around him.

Dean had one priority, and it wasn't them.

"Sammy," he breathed, dropping onto a knee beside his brother.

"Deeean." Sam's motions were odd and twitchy. "Deeeaaan, I'm coooold."

"Yeah, bro." Dean shrugged off his jacket and pulled it over Sam's scrawny shoulders. One of the girls had scrawled an obscenity across his upper back. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Okaaaay."

Gently, he helped Sam to his feet . . . sort of. Sam kept listing to one side, forcing Dean to keep an arm wrapped around his waist.

"How 'bout we get your pants back on?" Dean suggested.

"Pants are good," Sam said solemnly.

"They drug you, kiddo?" He had no way to check Sam's pupils, but all of Sam's other reactions pointed to that. Dean yanked Sam's slacks up. "How 'bout we go home?"

"Hoome. We don' have a home. Homeless," Sam mumbled.

"Don't talk like that," Dean reprimanded lightly. He kicked Eliot in the stomach as they walked by him.

"Always moving, no home, no life," Sam said.

"I'm too tired to philosophize," Dean sighed. "Why don't you hush until the drug wears off, huh?"

"Shh, Sam, stop being a burden, Dean hates you, you stupid idiot," Sam whispered.

Dean nearly jerked to a stop, but forced himself to keep walking. It was almost like Sam's internal monologue had . . . no, that was stupid, it was just the drugs talking.

"Impala's right here." Dean tried to inject cheer into his voice. "Easy does it."

He let Sam slump in the Impala and got up to get in the driver's seat.

"Don't leave me!"

The pure terror in Sam's voice made Dean's heart clench.

"Sammy. Hey, Sammy, I'm not leaving, I gotta drive."

There were tears streaming down Sam's face. Dean was tempted to go back to the backyard and shoot the little wimps full of rock salt on principle.

"Sammy, do you trust me?"

Sam's face melted into a tearful smile. "With my life."

"Well, trust me. I'm not leaving you," Dean said gruffly. He leaned forward, pressing a dry kiss to Sam's hair-covered forehead. "So stop being a little bitch."

Sam's smile went wide and loopy. "Jerk. Love you."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

**A/N:** how could I pass up drunk or drugged so my thinking was . . . both :3

Also this ended up a lot more angsty than I had planned. Um, sorry, heh. There is no happy drunkenness in depressing 'verse. ;)


End file.
